


Elements of War

by Kabal42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-05-30
Updated: 2006-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabal42/pseuds/Kabal42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is unfinished - and may well remain that way. It got overtaken by reality and Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Uninvited Guest

_\- in which Harry digs deep and discovers what one always finds when digging deep into the Earth._

 

Harry stood outside the house. It was a large country villa, separated from other buildings both by distance and by tall trees, hedges and a small river on one side. The house was dark and looked a bit forlorn. It was a house that had long been deserted but now housed inhabitants again, but the long lack of occupation had left it looking somewhat worn. The house had the air of a place that tried to look as if it were still deserted.

He stood perfectly still for perhaps ten minutes, waiting under the Invisibility Cloak and with added cover from some of the trees and unkempt bushes in the vast front yard. Then he moved closer and took up cover once more, this time behind a large holly tree that had grown into weird and twisted shapes. He patted the pocket where his wand lay, feeling more sheltered here than under the large beeches because of the holly in his pocket. Somehow he knew that this type of tree would never fail him.

He knew some of the routines in the house, knew from the information he had overheard from members of the Order of the Phoenix. They had been keeping this house under surveillance for some time. Moody had even tried to peer inside with his eye, but had not been able to find out what they were guarding there or where they might have it. One thing was certain, though, it was something important to Voldemort’s plans.

Harry squinted up at the house. Dusk had turned to night and he had a hard time making out the details now. The time was nearing and a quick glance at his watch told him that it would be very soon indeed.

He had barely ended that thought when a “pop” outside the front gates announced the event he had waited for. A large figure clad in a cloak to keep out the fog strode through the gates and up the path to the door. Silent as death, Harry followed.

The figure knocked on the door and a female voice from inside asked for password and identification. 

‘North Star. Goyle,’ a deep voice responded. Harry didn’t know Goyle’s voice, but somehow it fit the man.

The door opened and revealed a once beautiful now somewhat marked woman with long black hair. 

‘Come in. Our Lord left a few hours ago and she is not going to make trouble anymore,’ she said. 

There was a hint of pain in the woman’s voice, something Goyle did not seem to notice, but Harry did. He had recognised her at once. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, a woman he would have otherwise thought completely devout of emotion, and her tone puzzled him.

As the large man passed through the door it was fairly easy for Harry to slip in as well, being both smaller, much slimmer and more graceful.

‘I just did a round, but you had best do yours as well, it would be foolish to let down our guard now, even if she’s not a problem anymore. After all she was never the important one,’ Bellatrix said as Harry scanned the surroundings for a place to hide.

Once more a puzzling statement from Bellatrix, still in that pained voice, and Harry wondered if his information had been faulty; this seemed more like a kidnapping situation than the guard of a powerful object. But then again, kidnap was a powerful weapon. Harry scanned his memory for names of people who had recently disappeared to see if he could deduce who might be so important that they warranted immediate attention from Voldemort himself.

Goyle had grunted non-committally at Bellatrix’s last remark and removed his cloak. Harry hurried to dodge around the nearest corner and hide behind a large cupboard in what looked like a sitting room. This was the most crucial and nerve-wrecking part of it and he fleetingly wished that Ron were here with him, under the Invisibility Cloak, as he had been so many times in their childhood.

But now he was alone, as he knew he had to be. At least for now, for this one, it would not do to drag them into this. He would be fine alone for a few more days and he needed to take advantage of that without endangering the two people in the world who meant the most to him. He had banished all thought of Ginny from his mind, it would not do to be distracted or to bring attention to her; he could never be absolutely sure that Voldemort was not peeking at his thoughts.

The two Death Eaters entered the sitting room where Bellatrix gathered up a few items from the table - Harry glimpsed a book amongst them - and made to leave.

‘Wormtail is upstairs,’ she turned and said right before she reached the door. ‘He will assist you should the need arise. But I do believe he’s asleep right now.’

Her voice was full of contempt and Harry coldly noted that the Death Eaters did apparently not like Wormtail more that he did. He idly wondered why he did not feel more strongly about wanting to kill both Bellatrix and Wormtail to avenge the murders of respectively his godfather and parents. He knew the answers at once; they were not as important as this mission. Ending the horrible excuse for a life that was Voldemort was far more important. Vengeance would come later. He could wait.

Bellatrix left the room and he heard the door open and close yet again. She was gone. Harry looked at Goyle who seemed relieved to be rid of Bellatrix and collapsed on a couch, apparently wanting to relax rather than ‘do his rounds’.

Harry was partly annoyed and partly relieved. He had hoped for Goyle to take that round as he might have learned a few things along the way, not the least of those being where to avoid traps, alarms and such. Now he instead knew that there was a sleeping Wormtail in the house and Goyle looked as if he was going to sleep on his watch soon.

As he waited he looked around and figured that some sort of charm must have been placed on the windows to keep all light in, as the house was not the least dark inside. In fact, it was light, warm and oddly welcoming.

Harry waited again, patiently, as Goyle pulled a comic out from somewhere in a pocket and began reading it. His head slowly started to nod and he moved on the couch to rest more comfortably, but he continued reading. However, it wasn’t long after that when the comic dropped from his hands and a low, penetrating sound of snoring began to emanate from him.

It was time and Harry slipped out the door and into the hall once more. He checked the adjacent rooms and found a kitchen, a back room to the kitchen, a dining room, a large bathroom and a staircase leading both up and down.

He was strangely sure that his search would end in the cellar, and therefore he went upstairs first, if nothing else then to check on Wormtail. As he had expected the first floor had bedrooms and another bathroom. All empty, save one where Wormtail was indeed sleeping on a bed. Harry wondered why they had such poor security in place, but was grateful that they were apparently arrogant enough to think themselves safe here.

After checking once more that both Wormtail and Goyle were snoring in blissful ignorance, he made his way downstairs. 

The steps creaked in quite a few places and he froze and waited. Each time it happened he felt sweat break as he anticipated someone stirring somewhere. Nothing happened and he finally stood on the cold concrete floor of the cellar. Torches in sconces on the wall illuminated the room, which was large and bare. Harry figured it must cover one half of the house. To his left were two doors and he knew he had to try them.

The first one was locked, and anticipating he would have to do something about that, he looked in the other one first. It looked like an ordinary storage room and had it not been for the jumble of blatantly Muggle items, he would have searched more thoroughly. As it was now he felt that it would be justifiable to look at the last room before considering if he should do more about this one.

He pointed his wand at the lock and mumbled an “Alohomora”. Nothing happened. He had expected as much, it would have been too easy. Instead he pulled a pin from a pocket and, with a grateful thought to the Weasley-twins, attempted to pick the lock. It worked, the lock clicked, and he tentatively pushed the door. It didn’t budge and he swore under his breath. A magic lock as well as a mechanical one. 

He examined the door closely; it seemed that there was a magical addition to the mechanical lock, somehow linked to it as an extra safety. He chewed his lip for a while thinking. He had an idea, but he was not sure if it would do. At last he decided to try; he had to really.

Using another muttered spell he slowly passed the tip of his wand around the lock in a semi-circle. As he did so the wood under it charred and began to drop away as ash. He repeated the movement a few times before he finally was through. When he pushed at the door now it opened silently, the lock still attached to the doorframe but no longer to the door.

The room was dark, but he felt around and found a torch on the wall to the right. He pointed his wand at it and lit it. He gently closed the door behind him to have some measure of warning if someone entered. Only then did he look at the now dimly lit room.

He gasped and almost dropped his wand. A woman was lying on the cold and hard floor to his right. She was bruised and her head was at an odd angle with her body and she seemed to have been tossed aside like a rag-doll judging from how her limbs bent in strange shapes. 

She was dead. Harry had seen death and it looked like this. Horrible. And he knew this woman, it was Narcissa Malfoy and she was beautiful as ever, almost as if death accentuated her cold beauty. Even if Harry had not recognised her, her identity would have been given away by the other thing in the room: A boy on a thin mattress, lying in the corner farthest away from him and the door, but only a few feet from the dead woman.

Not even when he had guessed that the precious thing held here might be a hostage had he considered that this boy might be it; that it might be Draco Malfoy.

He was alive, breathing heavily in a sleep that looked troubled. Given that he was here, that there was blood on his face from a wound on his upper forehead, blood that made his blond hair stick to his face, and that his dead mother was lying close by told Harry that his sleep could be nothing less than fretful.

Harry felt a stab of pity. He had at least not consciously seen his mother murdered. He was somehow certain that Narcissa had died while attempting to keep her son safe, much as his mother had died to keep him safe. The Malfoys’ importance, especially Draco’s, was clear enough. Voldemort wanted to keep Lucius close and loyal and he wanted to set an example. Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore. Besides who knew when he might need a boy like Draco for something? Harry could not really be surprised by the evil of Voldemort anymore.

There was only one course of action. He swiftly and silently crossed the floor and crouched down in front of the sleeping boy. He opened the Invisibility Cloak to allow himself to be seen from the front, something of a gamble, but he was fairly sure that Draco would be quiet. Then he gently shook the sleeping boy’s shoulder.

The result was startling. Almost before he woke, Draco had scurried to the corner where he curled up in a sitting position as if he tried to protect himself and present as small a target as possible. Harry, who was startled by this sudden movement, felt another stab of pity. It was so strange to see the usually superior and arrogant Draco reduced to a whimpering heap in a corner.

‘Be quiet,’ Harry whispered, ‘I’m going to get you out of here, but we have to be really careful. You do want to leave, right?’

Draco nodded and a shadow of his old contempt showed as he whispered back.

‘Of course I do. Think I want to hang around till they kill me?’

Then he seemed to remember that his mother was dead, and the look was gone immediately, replaced by one of pain and anger. He quickly moved to the side of his mother’s body and looked at her. For a while Harry did not want to disturb him, and he simply waited as Draco straightened her hair and clothes. He was certain that he heard a muffled sob, but decided to ignore it.

‘Can we somehow take her too?’ Draco asked. 

The look on his face told Harry that he did not really think it would be possible but had to ask anyway.

Harry shook his head regretfully.

‘No. I’m sorry, but we can’t carry her if we are to escape unseen. I really am sorry, you know. That she’s dead.’

Draco just nodded again and got to his feet. Harry rose as well.

‘Come closer, you have to get under the cloak with me. We can’t have anyone seeing us. It’s bad enough that we will have to open the door ourselves. If someone sees the door open and close again without anyone there it’s going to get more exciting than I care for.’

Draco still didn’t speak, but he did look as if he’d have preferred not to be this close to Harry. But sense won out and Harry covered both of them in the cloak. As they exited the room he gave his companion a few instructions.

‘Now, you have to stay close and match your steps to mine. No sudden or big movements and stay slightly crouched so that our feet won’t show. Oh, and lean on me of you need to.’ He added the last part when he noticed the slight limp in Draco’s step.

They slowly crept up the stairs, once more stopping every time a step creaked. As they were approaching the door to the hall they heard steps out there. From the heavy sound Harry guessed that it was Goyle. 

Both of them froze. If Goyle came through the door now, he would walk straight into them. But he didn’t. His steps passed, and much to Harry’s surprise he suddenly heard the front door open.

‘ _Now. Hurry!_ ’ he whispered, and they all but ran.

Goyle was standing two steps outside the door, looking intently at a point off to his right as if he had seen or heard something there. Harry and Draco streaked by him and Harry guided them into hiding, once more, behind the holly tree. Here they sat, panting and sweating from fear rather than exertion, and waited. A few minutes later Goyle went back inside, and they slowly got to their feet again.

Harry had spent those minutes contemplating what to do next. He had known he’d have to take Draco with him, but he had not yet figured out where to go with him. In the end there was really only one possibility, even though he intensely disliked that possibility.

‘Can you walk?’ he asked, still in a whisper, and when Draco nodded Harry stood up and pulled Draco with him.

He led his charge down the garden path and out through the gate, desperately hoping that no one was looking out the windows to see the gate mysteriously open and close.

They were only a few steps away when he grabbed hold of Draco’s arm and concentrated deeply on getting where he wanted, eyes closed in concentration. The now familiar if still unpleasant feeling of Apparition followed, and when he opened his eyes again he saw Number 4, Privet Drive in front of him and a slightly stunned Draco beside him.

‘Keep quiet, I don’t want anyone to hear us,’ he said as he pulled his key out of his pocket and approached the door, all the while cursing that the security measures set in place by the Ministry now was instrumental in jeopardizing both him and his mission as he could not Apparate straight into his room. ‘Oh, and watch out for the bottom step of the stairs, it creaks,’ he added and then turned the key very carefully in the lock.

Draco seemed to pick up the need for silence and tiptoed up the stairs with Harry. They crept down the hall and through the door to Harry’s bedroom, a door that Harry closed and locked right away. Then he pulled the curtains and finally drew the cloak back and off Draco and himself.

‘We can speak freely here, but keep your voice down. I don’t want them to hear us and come looking.’

Draco nodded his assent but looked very curious - a look he kept as he scanned the room.

‘Where are we?’ he finally asked.

‘The place I have to call home for a few more days. My Muggle family’s house.’

‘Muggles? This is a Muggle house?’ Draco sounded somewhat taken aback by this statement, and he looked around even more curiously. Harry’s room didn’t betray much Muggle heritage, and he soon turned back to stare at it’s occupant instead.

‘I actually never thought about where you lived when you were not at Hogwarts, or where you lived those years after…,’ he seemed unwilling to speak about death, and Harry supposed that was only natural now that he too had suffered that particular loss.

‘Well, you are looking at it. Or, you are looking at the place I spend most of my vacation time. The first eleven years I lived in a cupboard under the stairs. I didn’t even know there was magic in the world or how my parents died. They told me it was a car crash.’ 

He sounded so bitter still that it surprised himself. Harry had thought that after the battle at Hogwarts he would no longer feel in the same way as he did before. But here was something that was a constant, his bitterness at the Dursleys.

‘In a few days it’s my birthday and I come of age and will leave this place forever. I look forward to it,’ he added.

‘If you hate it so much, then why are you here? I mean, most people would want to take _you_ in…’ Draco’s puzzlement was perfectly understandable.

‘I can’t tell you that. In fact I can’t tell you much of anything, in case I can’t trust you or you get re-captured. But I will try to assure that you won’t be at risk of that – or of betraying me in any way. It may get boring as hell, but at least you will be treated fairly. And now that we are at that subject, I need to leave you for a while and make preparations for your continued safety.’

Draco looked worried and as if he, for a moment, was considering trying to escape but thought the better of it. Instead he sat down on the bed and leaned back on both hands.

‘So I’ll just wait here, or what?’ he asked, and then smiled slyly as he noticed Harry’s eyes fixing on his left arm.

‘Never seen one up close before?’ he more stated than asked. ‘Do you want to touch, or do you prefer your own version?’ and he fixed his own stare at Harry’s forehead.

Harry’s hand involuntarily darted to his head to cover his scar.

‘Something like that, yes,’ he said, in a detached voice.

‘I know how it works,’ Draco said, ‘ _he_ still looks sometimes. He’s just very careful. I think it’s only when you sleep.’

There was a short spell of silence between them.

‘ I have ears, you know,’ Draco added in response to Harry’s sceptical look.

Harry nodded, but still looked as if he doubted the truth in his words.

‘You need to shield better,’ Draco volunteered. ‘I can help you, if you’ll let me.’

‘I’d rather not risk having another under-cover Death Eater try and help me in that fashion,’ he said with a deep and bitter hatred in his voice.

‘Ha,’ Draco responded. ‘Do you really think that they would have made that kind of set-up, do you? Kill my mother just to trick you?’ This time he was the one with hatred in his voice.

‘I suppose not, but you needn’t know it, if that’s what they did. But thanks for offering anyway. And since we are suddenly sharing stuff, I just want to let you know that I am sorry about that time in the bathroom. I didn’t know what that spell would do, if I had known, I wouldn’t have used it.’

‘Oh, well, I guess that’s what you get from trying to use an Unforgivable on someone,’ Draco said, surprisingly unemotionally, ‘I’ve been through worse since and I bet that so have you. We’re even, as far as I am concerned. Now you were going to leave me here alone or what?’

‘More or less. I will take a few precautions to ensure that the Muggles don’t find you, and then I will leave. I promise to hurry, you will not be bored for long.’

‘What measures are those?’

‘First I will Disillusion you. I have a temporary license to do magic, so no one will prosecute me for it, especially since they would expect me to use a charm like that to protect myself. Then you will hide under the bed.’

Draco looked sceptical.

‘Now, I’m okay with being Disillusioned, but why under the bed, why not on it? That would be a whole lot more comfortable…!’ Draco said and the scepticism was clear in his voice as well.

‘Imagine how your father would react if he found a strange Muggle boy in your bed. Then subtract the magic but not the nastiness and you have the reason…’

‘Point taken. Under the bed then.’ Draco sighed and sat down on the floor, looking expectantly at Harry.

Harry walked close and performed the Charm, smiling with recollection as he remembered the first time it had happened to him; Malfoy reacted with the same shiver as he had when the cold feeling crept down his spine.

‘Okay, now you are pretty hard to spot. So just roll under the bed, nothing too bad should be down there.’

Draco complied and Harry knelt down to look at him.

‘Hey, Potter,’ he said, looking out at the dark-haired boy. ‘Seeing as I’m practically your bed-fellow now, how about skipping the formalities and using given names instead? Eh, _Harry_?’

‘All right then. Draco. I’m going now, it won’t be long. Sorry to put you through this after the time you must have had, but it is necessary.’

And then he pointed his wand at Draco once more and cast a Sleeping spell. He rose and retrieved his Invisibility Cloak, then, as if on second thought, returned to the bed once more and cast a Full Body-bind on the sleeping Draco before he left the room, again covered in his Cloak.

Minutes later he arrived at The Burrow and was let in by Mrs. Weasley. Inside he found both her and her husband along with Bill, Fleur, Tonks and Lupin.

Harry nodded his greetings and looked them over as if appraising them before he spoke: ‘Good. You will do. I need you to do something for me.’ 

‘Now take it easy,’ said Lupin’s kind voice, ‘we are not yours to order around, you know, however much trust Dumbledore put in you, you are still not leading The Order.’

‘I know, and I’m not trying to either. I work better alone. But I am sure that The Order will want what I have. You see, I went to that house in Essex tonight.’

Ignoring their shocked looks and attempts at protest, he briefly sketched the evening’s events for them.

‘So now a sleeping, Disillusioned and Frozen Draco Malfoy is hidden under my bed and he can’t stay there for ever, now can he? Oh, and don’t even bother with the lecture, it was much better this way. An attack might have caused them to kill him as well.’

He gave them as disgusted look in response to their horror and anger with him. 

‘Now, hear now, Harry,’ began Mr. Weasley, but was cut off by Lupin’s raised hand.

‘Harry has a point,’ he said. ‘We had no idea that the Malfoys were the valuable thing hidden in that house, and an attack by a larger force would indeed have been a bad idea. And as done is done, we ought to go with Harry and take the young Malfoy to a safer place. Safer for him and safer for us. Then we must attempt to contact his father.’

Harry nodded, relieved that Lupin understood so readily, and relieved that he did not have to argue the point too much. He felt that it was perhaps more important to keep Malfoy, no Draco, safe than it would apparently seem. If Voldemort wanted him then it mattered. And Lupin had a point there, about his father… 

He realised, as he waited for the four of them to get ready (Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were staying behind), that he had a feeling Draco had a deeper meaning too. It struck him how similar they suddenly were, or perhaps always had been, how they had been assigned by fate, by fear, by something outside of them, to kill the two greatest wizards alive. Draco had not been able to go trough with his mission, for which Harry was grateful; it would have been the end of the person now lying under his bed and the beginning of another, entirely different, Draco Malfoy, one that would never offer to help anyone. Now he, Harry, could only hope that he could go through with his mission. Perhaps Draco could help, by merely existing.

He was jerked back to the here and now by Bill who patted his shoulder and asked him if he were ready. Without another thought he lead them out of the house and 5 popping sounds announced their departure. Draco would be safe very soon, a small thing, perhaps, but in a war every victory counts, and small ones can sometimes turn out to be all-important.


	2. Dreams of Devotion

_\- in which the Air reveals and thoughts are born_

‘Harry, you are not listening!’ Hermione’s annoyed voice ripped Harry out of his thoughts. ‘This is important!’ she insisted.

‘Alright, take it easy, I’m listening,’ he said, trying to reassure her.

She gave him a disapproving look and repeated her information. 

‘The four founders of Hogwarts, even though it may not have been intentionally, actually made the houses so that they each embody qualities of the four elements as found in ancient alchemy,’ she repeated. ‘This is why unity is so important, more so than just because we are stronger united, it is impossible to truly achieve anything in alchemy without considering all four elements. To have them in balance is completeness, the healthy state of things, to put it in another way. The ancient Greek philosophers and doctors likened the elements to the four bodily fluids that needed to be in balance in order for a person to be healthy.’

‘Very interesting, but why are the ancient Greeks and their bodily fluids of any consequence to us and the war?’ he asked, slightly annoyed at this out-of-the-blue lecture.

She sighed, exasperated.

‘Because,’ she intoned, ‘Hogwarts is a body. The Wizarding World as well is a body. We need balance. Have you ever considered what will be needed to destroy Voldemort when the Horcruxes are dealt with? And even more so, have you considered what we will have to deal with after the war? It is very likely that many of our institutions will be in ruins, and it is especially likely that Hogwarts will be.’

He stared at her. He had not considered that in the least bit at all. All he was focused on was the here and now, finding and destroying the remaining Horcruxes and then face Voldemort and end this blasted war.

‘I hadn’t thought of that, no,’ he confirmed. ‘I have been focusing on the task at hand. It was good that we found the tiara so fast, but we still have more to find and precious few leads. Are you sure you are not jumping ahead too fast?’

‘All I am saying is that you need to consider it. Keep it in mind for later. Especially if it ends up being significant in destroying Voldemort – remember the Sorting Hat and Dumbledore: We need to stand together. I think this is a strong clue to why we need that.’

‘I will think about it,’ he promised. Not that he could forget about it now, it was such a huge thing with massive implications and he almost didn’t dare think too much about it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

’Follow me.’ The voice spoke softly and clearly in Harry’s head, it was oddly familiar but he couldn’t place it.

‘Follow me,’ it repeated and Harry thought he’d better. No sooner had he thought so than he felt movement. It was a bit like flying, but he flew through nothing and no broom supported him. Then a speck appeared and he zoomed closer, the voice still calling him to follow. He couldn’t see anyone the voice could belong to, but he knew how to follow anyway.

It was a house. The speck they were speeding towards was a house. One he had only seen in one precious photograph, and then once as the heap of ruins it now was. Godric’s Hollow and his parents' house.

Someone was standing outside, two men, to be more specific. Harry could feel a rush of recognition come on as he almost realised who they were, but before he quite got it, his thoughts were interrupted by another voice he knew.

‘It’s too soon, this part is supposed to be last, not first.’ It was Hermione’s voice, as demanding and bossy as in any classroom. 

‘Oh, right.’ The first voice sounded apologetic. ‘Go ahead then.’

 

He was instantly transported somewhere else. The Burrow. Ron was outside, lying on his back in the sunlit summer sunshine and looked utterly content. _But it’s mid November_ , Harry thought. _I must be dreaming_. That had to be it, he was dreaming. A comforting thought.

‘Look at him,’ Hermione’s voice said fondly. ‘He’s the salt of the earth – he is Earth itself. He has deep roots, digs deep, is rarely unseated. He is the ground you always can count on. Bake him in fire and he hardens, throw him to the air and he flies like sand and covers all. Soak him in water and fertile mud is the result. You can bank and protect a fire like yours with earth, cover it to keep it from burning out or setting fire to things while still protecting it, keeping the embers warm and safe, ready to burst into life-giving flame once more.’

Dream-Ron got up and looked straight at Harry. Hermione’s voice was silent now, and all of a sudden the world around Harry flashed again, and in front of him was Hermione in a high tower somewhere, her face up against the open wind, arms spread and a large smile on her face.

‘Look at her,’ said Ron’s voice, now disembodied. ‘She’s the Air, always thinking up new ideas, always changing, flowing, never still. Up is up and down is down, and up is better than down. Up she flies and up she thinks and up she will guide you. Nothing stops the wind. She can flare a fire like yours to unknown strength, she can whip up the water to large waves and she can move earth itself if she sets her mind to it. Her mind is what keeps her flying.’

The world turned again and he saw Draco. He felt a surge of fear, Draco was not in Grimmauld Place as he was supposed to be, and Harry had to remind himself firmly that this was a dream! 

Dream-Draco was sitting near a large lake, leaned back on a small bump in the ground, with his feet in the warm water and the wind playing in his hair.

‘Look at him,’ said Harry’s voice. _Wait a second. I’m not speaking, how come I can hear me?!?_ ‘Don’t worry,’ his own voice told him, ‘just listen.’ Harry resigned himself to it. _A dream_ , he reminded himself.

‘Look at him,’ his voice repeated. ‘He is the Water. He is your opposite, Fire and Water, as Earth opposes Air, opposes and completes, though none can be truly complete without all four. He needs Fire, but it is not with him yet, I have not let me be there. If I do, I will bring Earth, I will bring Air, and I am Fire to his Water. He needs me and I need him. He is the deep thoughts, the hidden feelings, secrets and adaptation. Water hides old and unknown things. Water gets in wherever it wants, it carves through rock-hard ground, it falls through the air and it can calm a fire like mine when I need it, or together we can be explosive in our force. He is the missing piece.’

Harry hung in the nothing again; no senses picked up on anything and he tried to take in what he had just experienced. Then the speck was there again, and before he had thought about what had happened or what was going to happen he was once more flying towards Godric’s Hollow.

‘Voldemort!’ Harry yelled when he reached the point from where Hermione had dragged him away last time. This time he knew who he saw. Voldemort coming to kill his parents. He tried of all his might to get closer, to reach the figures down there. If only he could stop Voldemort then his parents would not die!

‘Tsk,’ the first voice said, and this time Harry recognized it, it was Dumbledore’s. ‘You know that it is not allowed to change the past. Nor can you.’

‘Stay out of it, you are dead!’ Harry snapped at the voice in the void.

‘Tsk,’ Dumbledore repeated, ‘you haven’t grown more patient since I died. And since when did that ever stop someone like me?’

Harry suddenly knew why this situation felt familiar. ‘Is this a Pensieve?’ he asked.

‘No, but not a bad guess. It feels somewhat similar. But no, this is, as you thought earlier, a dream. You have always had prophetic dreams - you just never realised it. This is one of them. That is why it is not like a regular dream and that is why I am in it.’

‘But - but you are dead!’ Harry spurted.

‘Yes, obviously. You saw me die, and I, as everyone else, stay dead. My memory, however, is helping you now, just as a Pensieve can assist someone in linking the right information. Now, take a look at what is happening below, and try to merely observe, there is nothing you can do anyway.’

 

Harry looked down. Voldemort and the other figure, a young man clad in black and with long – _hang on/i >he has long, greasy, black hair!_ He looked closer and, as if that were a command of sorts, he glided nearer to the figures below and saw their faces more clearly.

The inhuman and disturbing features of Voldemort were haughty and expectant, while the features of the young Severus Snape were fearful and, to Harry’s surprise, filled with a great sorrow.

‘Please don’t,’ he heard Snape’s voice as through a tunnel, it became clearer as he spoke. ‘I never heard the last part, what if this only makes it worse! I mean, there’s time to figure it out, to kill the boy later if he proves to be a threat. There is no need for this, no need to hurt his family.’

‘You have much to learn Severus,’ hissed Voldemort’s voice. ‘You have learned to hide better, enough to fool Dumbledore, but you cannot fool Lord Voldemort – you never will! You only beg for the woman’s life, your silly schoolboy crush betrays you and clouds your reason. I will not run a risk at all, the boy will die tonight!’

Harry felt desperate. If only he could do something! Warn his parents, stop Voldemort, even help Snape convince him! _Help Snape, now there’s a new thought_. His own voice mocked him inside his head. _Schoolboy crush_ , he remembered, _so it wasn’t all about that thing with the werewolf, the bullying and that. It was also about my mother_. Harry felt shameful at the memory of his father’s treatment of Snape when they were kids, and as unfair as it had always seemed to him, he finally began to accept that Snape had his reasons for seeing him, Harry, as an arrogant git. He looked so much like his father. _Except for my eyes_ , he told himself.

‘Yes, except for your eyes,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I am sure that causes immense pain to Severus, to see those eyes stare at him with loathing. Of course, he partly brought that on himself, but matters of the heart are never simple. You know that from a personal experience, I am sure, and for Severus it was even more difficult. He didn’t survive his childhood as relatively unscathed as you did. Help Severus, yes that would be a good idea. He needs your help now, as he could have used help back then, when this happened. It was shortly after he came to me. He had found out that Voldemort would go after your parents – and you – and he came to me. He had intended to act as a spy against me, but instead turned spy for me. He remained loyal all those years, up until and including my death.’

‘Sir, including your death? How?’ Harry asked.

‘Just watch now, Harry, and all shall be revealed.’

Voldemort had his wand out now and was ready to blast the door when Snape grabbed his sleeve. 

‘Don’t,’ he implored, as if in one last, desperate try.

Voldemort whipped around faster than a whirlwind and shot a rapid succession of spells at Snape. ‘Silencio. Crucio.’

Snape writhed in silent, screaming agony and Harry felt a surge of pity and anger. Then came the last spell: ‘Stupefy.’

Voldemort left the stunned Snape and blasted the door at the house in Godric’s Hollow. Harry heard a snippet of his father’s cry, It’s him, the same thing he’d heard years ago when the Dementors got too close, and then the world shifted around him and he hung in blissful nothingness.

Then there was movement again. In the nothingness that was vast and closed tightly around him something was. Movement, and a word.

‘Now.’ It was Dumbledore still.

Another speck, another rush towards it, another house, this time an unknown one. Harry zoomed right inside the house and saw, once more, Voldemort and Snape, but this was much later – this was present day.

‘Not just present. Now,’ Dumbledore corrected, and Harry sensed the truth in it – this was happening right now somewhere in the waking world.

 

‘Still no news of the Malfoy boy?’ Voldemort asked in that horrible voice that Harry knew all too well.

‘No my Lord,’ Snape answered, ‘he seems lost. At least the mother is out of the picture, and even though Lucius is out of our reach, I do not think anyone would ever think to approach him – he is too notorious.’

‘Fortunate that our failed ally so disqualifies himself from being a threat. It is indeed convenient – there are far more pressing matters to attend to. You may go; keep looking for the child, but it need not be full time. You will join Bellatrix in her mission as well. Send in Amycus on your way out.’

‘Thank you, Lord, I will,’ and Severus bowed his way out of the room and Harry was there with him, every step. Outside he simply indicated Amycus with a pointed finger and a ‘You, inside’ then hurried out of the building.

Harry expected the world to shift again, but it didn’t. Instead he was still floating alongside Snape. He found that his feelings about the man were a lot more mixed now – and he was glad to know that Draco was safe. In fact he felt very relieved at the thought.

‘Read,’ Dumbledore told him, and Harry knew he was supposed to read Snape’s mind.

‘But I can’t,’ he said, ‘he’s the best Occlumens alive, now that you are dead, and Draco has taught me a lot, I can shield now, but I can’t deal with someone like Snape…’

‘Good that you have finally seen fit to learn Occlumency, but you are wrong – you are a natural at Legilimens, your nature is to act out, not shield yourself, reverse of what Draco is like, in fact. Try.’

‘Water and Fire,’ Harry mumbled to himself and stared intently at the back of Snape’s head.

A jumble of ideas, pictures, and words rushed Harry’s mind. It flew at him at the speed of light; it was like being caught in a lightning storm of madness and minds. His head spun and he screamed loudly. Then it stopped.

‘Is it true?’ he instantly asked, but he knew that it was. He didn’t want it to be, but it was.

‘It is true. And I still trust Severus Snape. He has never failed me. Nor has he ever failed you, quite the contrary.’

Harry recalled some of the sensations he had received. A sentence: _The men fail to protect the women who then die protecting their children. I will not fail the children as I failed the women._ He knew it meant him – and Draco – _we are as alike as we are different_ , he thought. Most overwhelmingly was the June night atop the Astronomy tower, the pain and revulsion at having to strike out against someone you cared so deeply for, the only one who had ever truly believed in you. Harry understood so perfectly and he could no longer hate with the same force as before. He knew too well.

‘I know now,’ he told Dumbledore, ‘I understand.’

‘Good. I knew you would, eventually.’ Harry could hear the twinkle in the old man’s eyes and missed seeing it so much, it hurt.

‘I will leave you now, Harry. Ron is trying to wake you, he heard your scream.’

Harry wanted to tell Dumbledore to stay, that he didn’t care, he needed to know more, but he felt the word spin again. And as he spun away from the world he saw, once more, Ron, Hermione and Draco, but this time he was there himself, he saw them spin in a wild dance that seemed to melt them together in a pyre of pure energy, and from that he saw a phoenix rise, a broken tower rebuilt, and he felt a love so strong that he opened teary eyes to look at Ron.

‘Draco,’ he said, as he stared at Ron. ‘We need Draco.’


	3. Lost and Found

_\- in which water feels and souls meld_

Draco opened his eyes and looked up. Stars. There were stars there. Why? Why was he lying on his back and seeing stars – and why was he on…he looked around…a street?

He realised that he had no recollection of the day, time of day – or year. Not much of anything, really. He was pretty sure he knew who he was, though.

Painful memories rushed him; he fell back again and stared, once more, at the stars. He had a feeling that his was not the first time he’d ended up somewhere odd while trying to run from those memories. They wouldn’t be ignored.

A headache that was not entirely caused by falling backwards on a hard road and a bitter taste in his mouth informed him that he had been drinking. More memories came, unbidden and unwanted, to his mind.

That was it. He had this habit: When it all got too bad and he couldn’t stand the pain and guilt any longer, he’d attempt to drink it all away. It happened frequently, and he had a vague idea that his was the third day in a row that he had been doing it. 

Every time he did it he would, at some point, make that stupid attempt to Apparate. This time he’d fallen when he landed.

Apparition is not easy. It is much harder when you are drunk and unable to project your destination clearly. Trying to Apparate to a person rather than a place is very difficult at best, even for a powerful and sober wizard. He’d rarely been sober since… No, not that thought. He fought it desperately and won. Almost.

He kept trying the Apparition in some desperate act of hope, the kind that only fools hold. He was still in denial most of the time, denying the painful memories even though they were true. He lost his battle and remembered. Remembered Harry Potter’s death. 

And now he kept trying to Apparate to Harry’s side, to repeat what he’d done in the last battle, to see if he could somehow fix it – somehow not be late this time…

Too late. He had been too late and he had fled afterwards, not even looking back at a scene too horrid to comprehend. He’d heard Ron calling out for him to stop, but that had only made him run faster. He could not stop and face Harry’s friends, face his guilt reflected in their eyes. Instead he ran wildly and without thinking; ran until he fell and he was crying before he landed.

When he rose again he walked away to never return. He didn’t even return to see his father before entering this self-imposed exile.

Lucius regularly attempted to find him, he knew that. He always spotted the people sent to look for him and always managed to give them the slip. It had been close once; he hadn’t caught on before he actually saw his father’s reflection in a shop window. After that, he had become even more careful, hidden better.

By now it was harder for people to find him. He’d let his appearance change – partly voluntarily and partly just from the way he lived now. He was skinny, ragged looking, and a rare look at his reflection told him that his hair was lacklustre and his eyes were dead. He preferred not to reflect on the way he lived, or rather survived, these days, to not think of the tube trains, the public restrooms and the streets. It was his punishment as well as his escape.

He sat up and tried to get his bearings. There was no way of telling where he had ended up this time, but at least now he remembered that it was summer. Early summer, late June, and the weather was warm. The battle had been in March and Harry had fallen on ground frozen by a late frost.

Every time he’d Apparated like that he had ended up someplace strange. A street in a boring Muggle suburb, a ruined house – once he’d landed outside the gates to Hogwarts, closed and locked now – but apart from that one time it had all been places he didn’t know and this was no exception.

He was sitting in an empty street in the countryside. A street that was lined with trees and with no light to be seen anywhere, only the stars and the moon, almost full, lit up the night. Pretty far away from anything else, then.

There was a house, however. A single, lonely house was standing across the street from where he was sitting, pulled back from the road about twenty or thirty yards. The windows were dark and he carefully crept closer, hoping that it would be empty or have some sort of outhouse where he could hide for the night. Someplace better than going back to London and hide in whatever hole he could find there.

At closer inspection the house looked abandoned. There was no name on door or mailbox, the paint was flaking and the roof badly needed fixing. He managed to squint through a window and saw what looked like a living room that had no furniture, save a very mouldy sofa and a tattered rug.

He tried the door. It was open and he thanked his lucky star. He knew he still had to be careful - it seemed too good to be true. The house smelled abandoned too; mouldy, dusty and cold. He looked around and found no sign of habitation at all. He’d have to check upstairs in a moment, but his head was spinning so badly now he just had to sit down. The mouldy couch was not bad. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

The smell of coffee woke him, along with the feeling of sunlight on his face. He was lying somewhere warm and a lot more comfortable than anything he’d been close to for weeks and he was covered with something soft and warm as well. Panic coursed through him when he realised what this had to mean; someone did live in that house!

He cautiously opened his eyes, trying not to move. He had to assess the situation, the amount of trouble he was in. There was a slim chance that he could slip away unseen if whomever lived here were occupied elsewhere. He looked straight a pair of green eyes, set in a face with a small smile and with unruly black hair as a frame.

Draco jumped and knew he’d gasped loudly. Now he sat in the far end of the couch and stared.

‘Good morning,’ Harry’s voice said gently. ‘Want some coffee?’ He pointed to two steaming mugs on the table. Draco ignored them, even though the smell called out to him.

‘But. How. What’d. You’re dead!’ he stuttered, the first words he’d spoken for a long time and his voice was croaking and hoarse.

‘Not quite.’ Harry sounded a bit amused, but his face was very serious. Then he sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. Oddly enough, his expression was one of guilt and distress.

‘No Draco, I’m not dead, and I owe you a huge apology as well as an explanation. Please don’t think I’m a ghost, I really did survive back then. Ron tried to call you back, but you didn’t stop.’ 

There was pain in his eyes at the memory, and that was what kept Draco from interrupting him. Instead he moved a bit closer again and carefully took the mug of coffee. He was probably going to need it. He gave Harry an expectant look and took a sip of coffee. Harry looked surprised, but then continued his tale.

‘It was all a big ruse,’ he said. ‘It is possible to fake death quite successfully, as Dumbledore told you on the Astronomy tower the night he died and Hermione persuaded me to try that in front of Voldemort. We needed to buy more time, to find the rest of the horcruxes. I wanted to tell you, but the others vetoed me. It was only to be the three of us, that was the safest. We have years of trust invested in each other,’ he added apologetically. 

Harry stopped and looked at Draco, who realised that Harry apparently had difficulty meeting his eyes right now. Harry was ashamed.

‘They did have some right to say so,’ he then continued, this time looking at Draco at intervals, ‘but I kept arguing that you needed to know as well. Finally they gave in and I was going to tell you right before the battle, but you didn’t show up on time. You were late.’

His voice took on a slightly desperate note, and Draco felt that familiar guilt creep up on him, mixed with shock, a touch of anger and that overwhelming and unbelievable relief. 

‘Don’t think for a second that I blame you,’ Harry hurried to say. ‘I don’t, but it was pretty damned awful. Voldemort showed up earlier than expected just to complicate things and I had to go through with it or it would all have been wasted. Ron saw you, he wanted to tell you, but of course you didn’t stop.’

Harry was looking down into his own coffee again. He sounded so sad, and Draco could clearly see the guilt he himself had carried for so long reflected in the green eyes that couldn’t meet his.

‘I am sorry Draco. Very, very sorry. We have been trying to find you ever since, but you kept slipping away. I did hear about some of your Apparitions though, and I kept hoping that you’d turn up here some day if we didn’t manage to contact you. I wanted to go out myself, but there really was no way I could do that without putting both of us in danger.’

Draco just looked at him. He was still not sure that Harry was actually real. The story he was telling seemed like the answer to all his drunken hopes and it was quite possible that he had finally managed to get sufficiently drunk to be truly delirious. He was certainly aware that his brain wasn’t working properly at all, it was clouded and tired. Perhaps if he tried to stand up or something. Find out if he was sleeping or drunk still.

‘Don’t go.’ Harry moved in an instant and his hands were on Draco’s shoulders, pushing back. He sat down next to him on the couch, never taking his hands – or eyes – away.

‘Don’t go,’ he repeated, pleading. ‘We can’t loose you again. I can’t loose you again.’

Draco felt a stab of shame that Harry touched him when he was like this, thin and filthy, and tried vaguely to push his hands away. He didn’t want that touch; it brought back other thoughts, some he shouldn’t have, some that had been cause for misery even before that fatal battle.

‘You don’t have any idea,’ he said and couldn’t keep the bitterness away. ‘You can’t miss me like I missed you. Even if you are real. I have to go.’

‘No, you don’t. I do understand. I am not going to lose you again, do you hear me!’ Harry’s eyes flared, but Draco ignored it. He had hurt for too long to care. It needed to end, and he needed to leave this dream before it became a nightmare. 

‘Draco.’ Harry was still holding him back, and he was stronger than Draco in his weakened state. He was also angry. A familiar feeling to have directed at him and Draco welcomed it because of that and because it could flare his own anger, tear him away from this. Back to where he could drown this pain.

‘Listen you stupid fuck,’ Harry snarled, ‘I am not dead. I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you. You are awake and hung over and suffering from a bit of withdrawal symptoms along with a good bump on the head, but you are not dreaming! I know how you felt without me, I know how you missed me, I know because I felt the same. Don’t you get it?!? I know how you feel and I…’ He sighed deeply, lost for words, drowned in frustration. And then he kissed Draco.

Draco felt Harry’s lips against his and his arms around him, not just his shoulders, but truly embracing him. It was hard, insisting, persistent. Channelling all the frustrations and the words Harry couldn’t find. Draco couldn’t think, couldn’t understand, but Harry’s lips and tongue entwined with his and he heard their breaths and could smell Harry’s scent, slightly musky but sweet, and he didn’t even notice that he was lying down again before Harry broke off the kiss and rolled over on one side to rest beside him.

Draco felt as if he had been dunked in cold water, just without the unpleasant effects. His head seemed to be working again and there was absolutely no doubt anymore that Harry was real. He hesitantly reached out and touched Harry’s arm, felt the soft fabric of his shirt and continued up to touch his shoulder and then the skin of his neck.

‘Do you believe me now?’ Harry whispered and ran a hand along Draco’s jaw and gave him another kiss.

‘I do. I just never – ‘

‘Don’t say anything,’ Harry cut him off, almost sounding scared of the answer. He pressed their mouths together again and Draco told him what he needed to say in that kiss.

They were both short of breath when it ended. Draco was hard. Another kiss and more pressing together told him that Harry was too. His mind had stopped working again and there were hands under his shirt, on his arse, his own seemed occupied holding Harry close and groping, searching for skin.

‘Not like this,’ he gasped in a moment of clarity. ‘I need to at least have a shower first.’ He was filthy and grimy and disgusting. Thin too and looking awful. But Harry didn’t seem to mind any of that as he initiated another kiss.

‘Okay,’ he gasped, minutes later. ‘Upstairs.’

\- - - - - - - - - 

Harry had insisted on feeding him too, something Draco certainly didn’t object to, and that meant that showering had become brunch and now they were sitting at the kitchen table. Draco was in a bathrobe and slippers, which Harry had dug out somewhere and feeling far more comfortable than he had in ages. The fact that Harry seemed to want to touch him all the time – little touches, soft and subtle – did a lot more for his mood than he’d thought it could. It also stopped him from falling into disbelief or awkwardness at the situation. It was as if they were in some suspended dream world and nothing could reach them.

‘Where are we anyway?’ Draco asked. ‘And my compliments to the security spells on this place. But why isn’t it also warded against entrance?’

‘It is,’ Harry said. ‘Just not against you. I worked a long time to specifically exclude you from that and still added the security in case anyone got through – including you. I know what you’ve been doing and many of the places where you ended up. They all had to do with me. I was hoping you’d end up here.’

‘So, you did all of this to make sure I could get in if I turned up?’ Draco was impressed – flattered too, but it would be a little too much to let Harry notice that – and thus sounded a little sceptical. He may like the git, but there was no need to let him get too bigheaded about it.

Harry nodded. ‘Sure. Could hardly go find you when you ran away all the time,’ he said. ‘I even had Ron Polyjuice as your father, but that made you run too.’

Damned. That had been Ron? Draco wondered what else they’d tried and Harry seemed a little too well informed for his liking. Right now he didn’t want to know how much Harry knew. That was best left for later. The things he’d done since first running away were… unpleasant to think about.

He was just about to say something again when Harry was suddenly very close and then his lips were on Draco’s and he forgot what he’d been about to say anyway.

Kissing was nice, but it had to be more this time and Draco grasped the front of Harry’s shirt to keep him from pulling away. Instead he stood up and they were very close and kissing more.

Somehow, Harry got him manoeuvred the few yards into the living room and they stumbled onto the sofa and Draco’s robe fell open and there was Harry’s mouth, taking advantage of that and sucking on his already erect cock.

Draco gasped out loud. His hips bucked. He’d certainly not expected that. Not that he minded. Not at all…! He relaxed back down in the couch and let Harry do what he wanted. It felt good and it looked hot as hell to have him do this.

Harry’s tongue ran up and down the length of Draco’s cock and he took him as far in his mouth as he could, one hand wrapping around the shaft to make up for the rest of the length. It was clearly not the first time he did this and Draco was slightly surprised, but again that was hardly a reason to complain. His hand ran through Harry’s unruly, black hair, which was surprisingly soft, and he was moaning out loud by now, a sound Harry echoed in a way that made Draco’s stomach clench in anticipation.

He lost track of time and space in a much more pleasant way than by getting drunk. When Harry pulled back, he couldn’t suppress a mewl and wanted more, but then it became rather clear that he’d get more. Harry was quickly getting rid of annoying clothes and Draco sat up to help him. Which meant that Harry’s very hard cock was soon right in front of his face and grasped the opportunity to return the favour. 

Draco was rewarded by a loud groan from Harry and would have smirked had that been possible in this position. Instead, he kept going, intent on driving Harry as crazy as he’d done to Draco.

Apparently, that didn’t take too long, since he suddenly found himself being shoved firmly back into the sofa and Harry was over him, on him and he wasn’t even undressed as it was, but that hardly mattered, because he’d retained his wand and now there was a very slick feeling inside Draco that he knew what had to mean.

Sure enough, Harry pressed one, then two fingers into him and he moaned again and pressed back against them and Harry.

‘Now,’ he demanded in a voice caught between moan and growl and Harry just shot him a look and shifted enough to push inside Draco. 

Draco grasped at Harry’s shoulders, legs wrapping around him, urging him in deeper. More. He needed more. And Harry seemed as intent on giving it as he was to receive, judging by the almost desperate way he was now fucking Draco. Hard. Deep. Fast.

Everything was a blur of desire, overwhelming lust, green, black, glasses, soft skin, and a distinct scent of Harry mingling with the smell of the shampoo. Draco pulled himself closer and lost his mind in Harry. A hand on his cock and he was coming, crying out loud enough to be ashamed of it later and he felt the warm sensation of Harry coming in him.

No longer lost. He had been found and they were not alone. Never again.


End file.
